


Forbidden

by hutchabelle



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s married. She’s not his wife, but that doesn’t stop her from welcoming him into her bed when the desire is too much to deny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden

He comes to me in the middle of the night, sneaking from his home and to my door when it’s dark. It happens that way every time, and it makes each meeting so much more illicit because of the hint of danger. He is someone else’s husband, but we’re meant for each other so much more than the woman to whom he pledged himself seven years ago. I didn’t know him then. We have known each other only a year, but that doesn’t stop the desire that explodes between us when we’re together and the yearning that exists when we’re apart.

Some days I want to be angry at him for giving up on me before he even met me, but I know that’s unfair. He thought he loved his wife—until he met me and the bottom dropped out of his world. He fell for me before I thought of him as anything more than a friend, but when I did allow myself to see him as a man, I was lost forever, ruined for anyone else.

He confessed his feelings to me one day in a surge of anger when we argued over something inconsequential, and then he acted sheepishly around me the next few weeks until I realized I want him just as much as he wants me. It took a while for us to work out how to handle our relationship and we both tried to deny it at first, but we couldn’t after a while.

Now, a year later, my body still heats with an internal fire when I think about him. His hands stir me in a way no one else’s ever have, and his mouth on mine makes me drip with desire. His body quivers when I touch him. He strains for me unconsciously when we’re in a room together. There’s no point denying ourselves when we’re drawn together against our will. Sometimes the guilt is excessive and he stays away for a few days, but it’s never longer than a week before the separation hurts too much and our two parts become whole again.

I know he loves me unconditionally and I feel the same way about him. We just have to figure out how to hold on until he can disentangle himself from his wife, someone so much like his mother he cringes every time she walks into a room. His mother is awful; she always has been, and her constant badgering of him eventually wore him down to a shadow of his gentle, kind, fiercely good self until I helped him rediscover those aspects of himself again.

I’m particularly restless today and keep glancing at my phone in the hopes that it will ring, but I’m not expecting it to. I spend the day trying to deny the throbbing between my legs and instead focus on experimenting with new braid patterns for my hair since my younger sister’s wedding is in a few weeks. I hate fixing my hair, yet it almost takes my mind off him. Until I hear the phone ping…

I’m in the other room when that distinctive sound begins, telling me I have a message. It’s a pleasant surprise and one that sends electricity coursing through my veins. The thought of his body pressed against mine and us two joined together as we drive each other to completion forces me to grip the counter until my knees stop quivering in anticipation.

I’m a guilty pleasure; an addiction he can’t seem to break, but that only makes it hotter when we’re together. I’m supposed to be off limits for him, but instead he’s inside of me.

When he arrives, I open the door wearing a sheer babydoll that’s a little too short to cover everything. He shuffles his feet a little and then raises his blue eyes to me. They widen as he runs them up my trim legs to the ruffle of my gossamer skirt. His thick, wavy blonde hair falls across his forehead and a few wisps lift in the soft breeze. Creases mark his brow, a sure sign that he’s been fighting with the woman who makes his life a living hell. I reach out to draw him to me and place a soft kiss to his willing mouth. My fingers graze his forehead, and he leans into me. I rub small circles and smooth the wrinkles of worry until he sighs in contentment.

“Katniss,” he whispers, but I shush him. I don’t want to hear about her tonight. I don’t want to be reminded that he’s not really mine, that I’m just borrowing him for a few hours before he returns to her bed. Someday soon he’ll be mine, but that day isn’t here yet.

I turn and walk up the stairs so he can appreciate the view. After a few steps, I turn to make sure he’s watching. He is. His eyes shine with lust. His crotch strains against his jeans, so I crook my finger at him in an invitation to follow me. He catches me on the stairs and pulls me back into his chest to kiss my neck. I tilt my head to the right and allow him full access to my olive skin. The sensitive spot behind my ear is the place he spends the most time, caressing it with his tongue while his hands knead the curve of my bottom with tenderness. I can feel him further harden against me, so I pull away from him to climb the rest of the stairs and draw him into my room and onto my bed.

My room is dark except for a soft lamp glowing from a bedside table and a few scented candles that are lit in the corners. The moon shines softly through the sheer curtains. Together, they cast enough light that he can see my dusty nipples through the filmy nightgown. He dips his head to capture one in his mouth. His breath seeps through the material, and my nipples peak under his ministrations. When he pulls back, he’s reduced me to shuddering beneath his wet mouth.

His lips find mine and our tongues dance together as perfectly as the rest of our bodies do when they find solace in each other. The sensuousness between us heats our bodies with a slow-burning fire that’s stoked by the tips of our fingers and the contact of our skin.

We stand together in the room. Both of us are hesitant to move beyond kissing because the tension that builds between us as our mouths and tongues mate always makes what comes after it better. Finally, it seems, the desire we have for each other is too much, and he embraces me more firmly. He puts his arms around and gently turns me so my back rests against his chest and returns his lips to my neck. His hands run lightly over my body, just enough to raise goosebumps under his fingertips. He pushes my babydoll up my back and moans at the perfection of my plump cheeks in his palms.

With a light squeeze, he confesses, “I love to take you from behind, Katniss. Watching myself disappear into you… Feeling your tight ass against my hips… Feeling you tighten against me… Knowing you like it from behind too…” His voice trails off at the end of each observation because he’s raining kisses along my shoulders. His deep baritone grows increasingly husky as his breathing deteriorates to desperate gasps.

As he caresses me, I reach behind to cup the front of his jeans, and he moans so loudly my chest reverberates with the sound. I lean against him so I can feel his muscles. They quiver at my touch. He’s trembling behind me when he reaches down to see if I’m already wet. I am.

I bend over the side of the bed and press my forearms to the mattress and my forehead to my arms. I spread my legs a little wider to give him easier access, and he takes full advantage. He dips his fingers inside to massage me in the most intimate way before retreating and then returning to my heat. His left hand moves from my breasts to push against my back. He’s as hard as I’ve ever felt him when he presses against me, but he’s denying himself so he can please me first.

From above me, I hear him mumble almost incoherently, “Everything I’ve ever wanted, Katniss. You’re everything…”

His fingers work their magic as his thrusts from behind shove me forward. With his hand still pressing me down, he finds my clit and worries it beneath his fingers. I gasp and then give a noiseless moan, the sound choking in my throat and my mouth slack in tense gratification. It’s barely a sigh, but he knows that it means he’s making me happy. He pushes harder into my backside and continues to tease me with his hand. The rough denim of his jeans grazes the sensitive skin of my buttocks and heightens the feelings he evokes from me.

I’ve wanted this all day, so it doesn’t take long before my body tightens and explodes. Suddenly I climax on his hand and shove back against him.

I love the noises he makes when he’s turned on. I love the raspy moans that catch in his throat. I know making me come makes him happy, and the intensity of this orgasm has to have made him ecstatic. His hand continues to massage my clit, and I crest again and again and again and again and again until I scream.

We buck against each other even though the only sexual contact is his fingers on and in me. He doesn’t quit, even when I mewl his name until it falls from me in a whine. He knows I’ll stop before I’m done if he doesn’t push me, and he’s selfless enough to want me to be completely satisfied. So, he keeps touching me as fluid from my orgasm coats his fingers and runs in rivulets down my legs. They feel like jelly, and I finally beg him to stop.

“Peeta,” I whimper, “stop, please. It’s too much.”

His hand slows then and he trembles behind me. Gently, he helps me face him. His eyes are glazed, and I quickly realize why. The side of the bed is soaked; the carpet’s wet as is the dust ruffle. His hand is sopping, still covered in the result of my orgasm. I sit, surrounded by the moisture, and relish in how much he coaxed from me. Seeing the hunger on his face makes me bolder, and I lean forward to take his hand into my mouth. I lick him clean, tasting myself on his long, tapered fingers. His eyes close and he groans in the back of his throat. He loves that I’m dirty.

“Peeta,” I say softly, “I want you naked. Take off your shirt.”

He nods and lifts the soft cotton over his head and drops it on the floor at his feet. My fingers work the button on his waistband and then pull the zipper down tooth by tooth. His eyes grow wider the entire time and cloud with longing when I breathe through the cotton of his underwear. His cock twitches as the air permeates the material, which makes me grin slyly. I shove his pants down his legs and take in the gorgeousness of his muscular thighs. His erection springs upward, and I grasp its girth in my small hand.

The darkness of my olive skin clasping his lighter, pink paleness sends a thrill through me. The differences in our skin’s shades accentuate the contrast between us—him so powerful and masculine, while I’m small and feminine. My hand strokes him a few times until he moans my name, but he stops me long before I want him to.

He’s not done with me. He leans in to kiss me, and I can feel how much he wants me in the way his mouth covers mine. Forbidden fruit is always a little sweeter, I guess, and I want every bit of his succulent juice I can get. His tongue traces my lips, and he gasps, “I can taste you on your lips. I can taste what you sucked from my fingers.” His blue eyes light with a carnality he hasn’t shown me for several weeks, and it excites me.

He kicks his jeans free and drops to his knees.

“Lay back,” he orders with a wonder that makes my heart tug.

He’s so good, so giving and generous and kind as a lover. It infuriates me when I hear gossip labeling him as an inadequate lover. His wife can’t be pleased by anyone if she can’t enjoy what he would offer her if she’d take it. Instead, he lavishes his attentions on me. The intensity of our sexual encounters is a reflection of our passionate love.

As I lie back on the bed, his mouth and tongue taste what his hand produced earlier. He licks and sucks and nips at me from my knees to the juncture between my thighs. He runs the tip of his tongue along the trails of my orgasm and washes me lovingly. When I’m cleansed thoroughly, he lifts my legs to drape over his shoulders and spreads me wide with his fingers. He blows along my folds before nuzzling me with the tip of his nose. Breathing in my scent, he kisses me so intimately that tears spring to my eyes. He conjures such deep feelings, I can’t control my response to him.

He takes his time, loving me with his mouth, and the pressure builds inside me again. My fingers grasp at the sheets, and I twist them tightly as the muscles in my stomach tense. I raise my head in mystified pleasure that I can be this close to coming again. His eyes open lazily and meet mine over the patch of dark hair that’s groomed to guide him to my clit. I can see his enjoyment as the bottom half of his face burrows deep in my warmth.

I surrender with a cry as I release in his mouth several more times. Each time I do, he moans and swallows as much as he can take but some escapes. He wiggles the tip of his tongue, and I writhe beneath him in an attempt to squirm away. He releases me then and licks his chin clean with a smug smile. My eyes roll back in my head, and I drop my head to the mattress.

“Give me a minute,” I plead as my head rolls listlessly from side to side. I’m so worked up that I feel like I’ll combust if his skin connects with mine.

He sits back on his haunches and watches me. He wipes his face with the palm of his hand and clasps his dick with it. He strokes himself, using my fluid as a lubricant, as he examines my figure, prone before him, still covered with the translucent nightgown. The material shimmers between peach and a color that’s a bit richer, a soft orange that I know is his favorite color. I’m aware it makes my gray eyes shine like silver and highlights the streaks of light brown I’ve added to my dark hair. It’s loose tonight, spread out in a fan beneath me because I know he loves to thread his fingers through it when we couple. 

As I calm, an empty feeling threatens. I want my mouth on him too because I get as much excitement from giving as from receiving.

“Don’t overthink,” he pants while his hand jerks harder. “Just enjoy it. You’ve already made me happy just from your response to what I do to you.”

Finally, his hand slows before he can get too excited, and he stands up and leans over to kiss me. I welcome him with my embrace and accept his body weight on top of me. His warm skin feels like velvet against mine, but there’s a hardness too. He takes such good care of himself, and his physique shows that. The power that rests latent in him until he’s ready to demonstrate his strength makes me pant with desire.

He says he wants to continue, but I need to feel his length inside instead of his mouth on me. I yearn for him to fill me, to connect his body to me as intimately as our minds are linked. He stretches to lie flat on his back, his head on the pile of pillows, and waits for me to mount him, but I want to lavish a little affection first.

My mouth caresses him with passionate kisses. I descend his torso, licking him, rubbing him, and feeling his muscles ripple under his skin. I relish this chance to make him happy and wonder if I should partake in one of my favorite pastimes—a slow, hot, sexy, sloppy blowjob—before we make love. The feel of him in my mouth, the erotic sounds he makes, the smell of his body, and the taste of something a little salty are all things I crave when we’re apart.

As my hands and mouth and tongue and breasts surround him, he reaches down to caress my back. He kisses the top of my head and whispers my name sweetly, telling me that he loves what we do together and loves my lack of inhibitions. I ask if he’s ready for me to take him in or if he wants more tormenting with my tongue. His eyes are barely open when he gives me permission to do whatever I want to him. Our conversations always make the experiences together so much more personal and so much more affectionate. It’s in his quiet moans that I can hear the adoration he has for me.

After building so much tension, I’m desperate for him. I can feel him tensing as I suck on him, so I release him with one last deep pull. He helps me to straddle him, and I encircle his rigidness and hear him shout as he’s finally gratified in our union. I move slowly at first, my hips rocking forward. His hands lift to fondle my breasts, which causes me to swirl my hips in a circular motion. His breath hitches and he wraps his fingers through mine so we’re able to push against the other. His eyes close, and his lips part slightly as he attempts to slow his breathing and prolong what we’re doing. I see the joy spread over his face, and I allow mine to reflect the satisfaction in his.

Plaintive moans fall from me as he hits deep inside, but I feel too exposed sitting atop him.

“Peeta, I need you to cover me,” I beg and move from him to lie on my stomach. He kisses across my collarbone and along my shoulder blade as he moves to press his chest to my back. He nudges my legs wider and sinks into my tight sheathe. His taut body covers mine. He breathes uneven gasps into my ear, and his hands search for mine under the pillows so he can wind his fingers through mine again.

I’m helpless beneath him, completely prone, and shielded by his form. I normally hate to give anyone this much power over me. I can’t stand to be vulnerable, but I’m not helpless in this situation. I’m empowered by his love for me, by his desire to give me every pleasure he can. He groans sweet nothings as his pace quickens. He’s been incredibly patient while I’ve enjoyed countless releases from his mouth and hands.

He jerks against me, his muscles clutching in spasms as he nears his peak. I close my eyes against the sweet pressure building inside me and wail my approval. His grunts grow louder and more erratic until he stiffens and barks my name. Warmth flows from him and fills me, the milky substance heating my insides and sending shivers of excitement through me that he came so hard. His hands grip mine so tightly, I lose feeling in my right hand, but I also don’t want him to let go.

When he’s done, he relaxes on top of me, gratified and limp from what we’ve done. Much too soon, he rolls off me and I feel the cool air invade where his warmth was. He pulls me to him, curling my body against his and kisses me tenderly. His fingers comb my dark hair, and his arms cradle me gently.

“Soon,” he says against my hair, and I shift to observe his face.

“Soon?” I ask, unclear what he’s suggesting.

Peeta sighs and brushes his lips across my forehead. “Soon I won’t have to leave. Soon I can be with you all the time instead of stealing hours and minutes in secret.”

I nod and drop my eyes to stare at an empty space. It will be soon, but it’s not soon enough if it’s more than a minute from now.

As we lie together and enjoy each other, we understand the gravity of what will come. Leaving his wife won’t be easy, but neither is living this lie. Peeta is part of me now, and I can’t fathom existing without him. The feel of his skin against mine soothes me, and I giggle softly. A smile stretches his mouth as we talk, both of us giddy from what just happened. He doesn’t want to leave, but I gently remind him that he has to go before his wife wakes up and finds him missing. Besides, both of us have plans the next day that place us in the same vicinity, even though we can’t be together in public yet. It’s excruciating, but it’s only for a few more weeks.

I close the door behind him at 2:30 a.m. and smile. I know he’ll be thinking of me and what I give to him that he can’t get anywhere else. I’ll cherish the bliss I feel right now until I’m finally in his arms for good.

I’m not going to settle for less than that. I won’t be forbidden forever.


End file.
